You could hear Duke's neck crack from the sharp turn his head made in Animal's direction. Hoffy looked at me and raised an eyebrow, giving me a questioning glance. I didn't know anymore about Sefton's being there than the rest of the gang, how could I? I hadn't talked to Sefton since the day he'd hightailed it outta Stalag 17, and liked I'd said before, no one even knew if he was alive or not.
All the rowdy conversation that had been going on around me suddenly stopped. Everyone turned to look at the former sergeant and wrongly accused traitor.
Duke and Sefton in the same room looked like bad news to all of us. We all knew Duke wasn't sore at Sefton, not since we found out that Price was the informer, but Duke had been the first to accuse Sefton and when Sefton had left with Dunbar he'd made his feelings pretty clear. Duke didn't move a single muscle and Sefton hadn't moved anything but his eyes when he'd heard Animal's voice, and that alone was enough to cut us down. His blue eyes that had once been like the still waters of a peaceful lake, even when there was scheming behind them, suddenly looked as if they were made of ice chips. He looked so different to me that I didn't know how Animal or anyone else could have recognized him at a glance, even with his trademark cigar hanging from his lips. Animal had once told Dunbar that the only way he could have been acquainted with a guy like Sefton was if he'd had his house broken into, but now, now he was dressed in a dark suit that had to be tailored, the expensive looking material fit him like a glove. It was the kind of thing you would have expected him to wear while he'd been in 17, considering his trading activities, instead of the bomber jacket and worn out army regulation clothes. Sefton's golden brown hair was no longer a short military crew cut, it was wavy and slicked. It went beyond what his hair was like and what he was wearing, like the change I saw in his eyes Sefton's features seemed somehow hardened, and as I took in these changes a felt a shiver shoot through me.
Suddenly an angelic voice stopped the shiver in its tracks. "John?" it called out. I turned, I think we all turned around, the voice was so beautiful we just couldn't help but look in the direction it came from. The voice came from a dark-haired woman carrying a kid, no older than two, in her arms. The woman looked like a high class dame, not the kind of girl you'd think would take a liking to a guy like Sefton unless she was trying to give her parents a hard time. Sefton only turned his head slightly, to let the woman know he'd heard her, unlike his former brothers-in arms she at least seemed worthy of that much of his attention.
When he turned his head in the woman's direction I noticed a scar, it was hard not to. The scar began at his temple and curved halfway around the bottom of his left eye. There was another scar, a faint one that connected to the one around his eye that made it look like the number two. We all knew where the small faint scar had come from; we'd given it to him
The woman moved closer to Sefton, reaching out to place her hand on his arm.
"John, do you know these men?"
I could feel everyone tensing up as the soft voice with a Boston accent asked the question. We were all wondering the same thing, had the years changed Sefton enough for him to forgive us? If his reaction so far was anything to go by we didn't stand a chance.
Sefton's eyes went from frigid icebergs to the eyes of someone who was completely unfazed by what was going on around him, when he heard the question. Sefton took a long drag from his cigar and slowly blew the smoke upward before speaking.
"Never met 'em in my life," he said, in a voice that brought with it a flood of memories from the day he'd been beaten.
As those words left Sgt. Sefton's lips he made good on his promise. We were the bums and this classy New York City hotel was the street corner. The woman looked confused at Sefton's behavior. Why shouldn't she be confused, why would anyone have reacted the way Sefton had, even for a second, toward men who, according to him, were perfect strangers?